Greetings from Spockgirl Musings, where logic rules, but the frailties of
human nature, genetic inadequacies and hormonal imbalances wreak havoc.



Sunday, April 22, 2012

Say what?


A gentleman, and I use that term loosely, was walking up the street and back-tracked when he saw me in the yard with the lawnmower. He started chatting about how he felt bad that everyone was working in their yards but he wasn't. He then added... but I don't have my own yard, so I can't be... or something along those lines. He offered to cut the lawn for me, but I declined for the fact that it is good exercise, and I need it. About an hour later, he was walking back, after having a drink or two, and with a six pack of beer to take home to watch the hockey game. He got on my case on how much I hadn't gotten done, and then in regards to what needed work on the house and the roof and... blah, blah, blah, with an inability to find the words, and comments laced with profanity, but in an apologetic manner. Adding that he was a contractor and knows this guy and that guy and worked on this house and knows what he's talking about. And then... the clincher... "If I were your husband..." There was more after that, but whatever. He did make valid points, of which I am perfectly aware, however, I was not about to explain my position.

Of course, I didn't come up with a witty retort until after he was gone. I think at the time I just wished he would stop talking and be on his way.  

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